


A Gilded Cage

by gatekat



Series: Dathanna de Gray [4]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Other, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Xeno, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: Important moments in Mirage's life from Tower mech to nothing to Autobot to one of the top spies in the war, and his journey from the property of his creators to bonded to Hound and his struggles to be true to himself, once he learns what that is.





	1. Keesa'turr's First Night

Keesa'turr woke with a shiver. Though her nest was soft, deep and warm, her belly was full of good fruit and seed and her feathers immaculate, she couldn't help but be a little afraid of today.

Today her parent's owners' second creation reached his age of majority, and she was to be his first socket. She had seen him only once, the day he had chosen her from among his family's unclaimed stock. He looked kind enough, if disinterested, and finely built, rather like her own kind and not at all like his older sibling. Her new owner was all slender grace and silence.

But what did she really know about the one who she would be bound to for the rest of her life? How long would it be until he had a mate of his own kind? Would his mate be like his older sister, all strength and aggression? Or more like himself? What would his mate's socket be like? Her own kind, to be her breeding mate, or even similar enough to share pleasure? Would their owners even want that?

With a chittering of distress Keesa'turr roused herself shortly before her caretaker arrived. It was going to be a long morning of being groomed, pampered and anointed with odd oils that smelled good to her masters but tasted vile when she preened. She settled on a perch in her large cage and nibbled on a perfectly ripe sun-melon to settle her nerves while she waited for the small servant mech to come tend to her and prepare her to be presented to her new master.

When the servant was finally finished Keesa'turr was confident she had never looked so fine in all her life, and likely would never look so fine again. Every feather was perfect, in just the right place, oiled to a sheen that made every strand and hook look like finely cut jewels. She was decorated with fine chains of metal and crystals with the family crest carefully painted on her breast. It was an extremely proud moment for her close relatives and she was determined to do well for them. It was worth something to have a hatchling become a dedicated socket after all. It made them far more valuable to their owners.

The presenting passed in a blur. Her part was small and simple; be still, chirp pleasantly if spoken to and look pretty on the slender blue and white mech she had been chosen for. It would be her part in every public gathering he would attend that he brought her to.

It is when he retreated to his rooms that time slows down again and her nerves find her again. He has not spoken to her, and she does not really expect him to. She has been well prepared for tonight. She knows what to expect, even if she is not sure how gentle he will be about it; if it will be drawn out or an unnaturally fast push to get his energy and be done with it.

A cable from his wrist snaked across her shoulder as he lay on his back on the large berth. It clicked into place at the base of her neck with no preamble as he settled her on his chest plate, just above his spark, and seemed to watch her with a detached curiosity when she chirred in pleasure. A small pulse was sent into her socket and she shivered. She was sure even if she had not been conditioned to respond quickly she would have. It always felt so good.

The surprised gasp from the mech wasn't quiet as expected. Had he used a socket before?

Cautiously, Keesa'turr extended her awareness towards the other end of the connection. She'd been taught how to enable her to better please her owner, but to an active, curious mind it had other uses.

So young ... she couldn't help her reaction. Yes, old enough to understand pleasure, but so inexperienced and with such little desire to change that.

Distinct discomfort with her touching him, even just sitting on his chest.

Determination to see this through.

A pulse was sent through the connection, distracting her from everything but the intense pleasure that shot through her body. No, he would not be lingering or gentle, not tonight at least.

With a warbling cry she squeezed her vocal cords and worked her tongue to make the mechanical noises of their language. "Mirage, more please Master."

She felt him startle through the connection and the body under her, but the pulses he sent with a little more confidence left her unable to process much more than that it happened. Under the assault she chirped and keened, her body responding as it had been taught to fall into the stiff-muscled, blinding whiteness of ecstasy with little more prompting.

Under her, Keesa'turr felt her owner cry out in startled pleasure as his spark fed for the first time on the energy of an organic. It pulsed erratically, feeding a second rush directly into her, demanding more. More that she willingly gave until she crumbled in an exhausted, near-boneless heap on his chest, able to feel nothing beyond the strong pulsing of her owner's spark.

Very distantly, she was aware that a second mech entered the room, told him something that made him relax and then left.


	2. Keesa'turr Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forty vorn after receiving his first socket, Mirage bids her farewell and deals with the fallout.

Mirage watched with mixed emotions as his first bird's abandoned body was consumed in a funeral pyre created by her kind. They destroyed her frame so none could use it again. He would miss her, his little Sweet Voice Bright Crest. It had taken many vorns to get used to each other. She came well trained, but he was his own mech, no matter what his creators had in mind; a poor example of a second creation if you looked past the surface.

Yes, he cared about her; it was only prudent. She provided strength to his spark and he and his family had invested countless resources in gathering, caring for, selectively breeding and training their flock to be the best at what they were for. He had proven with her that he was worthy of his family's finest stock. He'd kept her alive and working for nearly forty vorns; by no means a record, but extremely respectable.

Her death left him in an unwelcome place, however. His intended, knowing his socket was near the end of its usefulness, had gifted him a new one. A thoughtful, useful, _expensive_ gift ... that Mirage did not like to touch. His bird had been relatively clean for an organic, but this one shed bits of itself everywhere. While he could appreciate the physical appearance and strength of its energy, just thinking about being in the room with it made his circuits crawl.

He had so far avoided it except for the night he indulged with his intended and claimed the creature. Its energy was good, but the tiny strands of its fur were still in some of his gears from that single encounter. He no longer had that luxury. His spark ached, even though he knew he would have many vorns even if he never touched his new pet. He could survive its lifetime easily. Not so easy would be to hide his lack of charging from his creators, intended and the family medic.

No, he had little choice. He would have to use his gift in the next few orn or explain why he hadn't.


	3. Meeting Hound and Sikee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two vorns after the destruction of the Towers, Mirage struggles to adapt to Autobot life.

"Mirage?" A deep, friendly, decidedly lower-class voice greeted him when he answered the door chime to the small room he had on the Autobot base.

"Yes," he nodded and looked his visitor up and down. Heavy build, a large scout class with extra armor, a matte finish deep grey-green that would blend in well. His gaze locked on the organic ... something ... wrapped partially around his neck. A socket.

Mirage's spark nearly leapt out of its casing in need-filled desire.

"I'm Hound, this," he reached up to caress the organic's scailed head, "is Sikee."

"Pleased to meet you," he remembered his manners, much of his already infamous snobby manner falling away in the face of his spark's frantic demands and his own confusion.

"May I come in?" Hound said when the awkward pause lasted a little too long.

Mirage cycled his optics, then nodded and stepped back to motion the taller, heavier mech inside. The door closed behind Hound, and Mirage watched him warily as the scout turned to face him.

"We know you don't have a socket, and it's starting to affect you," Hound paused at the quickly hidden look of irritated dismay that flickered across Mirage's elegantly crafted features. "Sikee and I are willing to share."

The noble, now well over a vorn without, still managed to maintain his composure by the barest thread of will. "What do you want in exchange?" he managed to ask calmly, giving no hint at how desperate his situation really was.

Hound blinked his optics in surprise and Sikee made a few clicking hisses as she looked up at her mech.

"We're not expecting anything," Hound said cautiously. "We're all Autobots here." He paused, giving Mirage time to assess what he expected was a new concept even after half a vorn in the army. He extended his arm as Sikee crawled along it, all sleek green and blue grace with a tinge of red on the small horns and tip of her face.

"How did you get a Rikerian?" Mirage asked, his optics fixed on the reptilian organic crawling towards him with such obvious intent it made his spark lunge against it's casing and energon sing in his lines. Survival protocols activated, demanding he acquire the use of this socket by any means.

"On their homeworld," Hound answered easily, watching the young noble struggle between desire, distaste and wariness. "I was an explorer before the war. I visited many worlds. Sometimes a socket would decide to travel with me afterwards.

"She _wants_ to share with you," Hound tried to encourage him, knowing the other needed it badly. He didn't understand the distaste many had for handling organics, but he'd seen it often enough to know how to deal with it. "Why don't you sit at your desk and I'll put her on it."

That was enough to get Mirage to move, need driving his compliance. His primary connector cable snaked out from his wrist and found the socket on the back of Sikee's neck even before the sentient reptile had completely settled. He shut his optics off and sent his mind back to the only organic he'd taken any real care with. As much as it made his circuits crawl, he listened to the other end of the connection, timing pulses and strength according to the creature's desire.

He wasn't at all prepared for the way the creature sent pulses _back_ , but by then survival protocols and his spark's hunger had control of his actions.

As Hound watched, the elegantly crafted noble-turned-spy lost himself in the pleasure Sikee was so good at providing. It wasn't lost on him the way he'd jerked in surprise when it started, almost disconnecting before they'd begun.

Sikee click-hissed her confusion at him between squeals of pleasure. A few words in her own language and the reptile settled fully into taking and giving pleasure, quickly reaching her peak with a sharp cry.

Mirage stiffened, right on the edge of overloading himself between the feedback and the rush of much-needed energy into his spark. His vents were open fully, fans at maximum and his frame stiff with a charge licking up in a bright blue display of his state.

Hound had never seen a reaction like that. His own plating was hot from watching, but the desire to 'face this slender, elegant mech went far beyond that as he realized Mirage wouldn't overload. Sikee was calming down, her pleasure strengthening the spark connected to her, but Mirage was desperately trying to deal with the charge racing through his systems unchecked by calming down himself.

"Let me," Hound said quietly, throatily, next to Mirage's audio receptor even as he slid a wide, strong hand down the white stripe of Mirage's chest plates. He curled his fingers on the smooth plate between Mirage's legs and smiled to himself when a sharp cry escaped the elegant mech as overload took him hard and fast.

Mirage continued to shudder as the charge dissipated and he regained full control of his processors and body.

He retracted the cable connecting him to Sikee ... and froze.

"Hound?" the noble's voice was even, almost neutral, but held a wealth of questions when he looked up and met the scout's bright blue optics.

It took a nanoklik for exactly what those questions were to register, but when they did Hound jerked his hand away and stepped out of Mirage's personal space. "I was just trying to help," he said apologetically.

"In the future, please do not," Mirage told him stiffly.

"May we come back next decaorn?" Hound asked as he gathered Sikee in his arms and watched Mirage carefully, fully aware he'd gone too far with the noble.

Mirage paused after he stood, his faceplates giving no hit of the debate going on in his processors. After a brief moment, he nodded and motioned Hound to the door.

"If you come, I will welcome you," Mirage answered formally.


	4. The Naturalists 1: Meeting Alicia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of [The Naturalists 1](http://tf-socket-fics.livejournal.com/5878.html) from Mirage's POV.

Water and muck, green vegetation and tiny life all around, and I run like I have hope of escaping my lover in his natural environment. Not even a full orn on this slimy world and he's already talked me into 'playing' in the slimiest part of it he has found. For all that, my plating is hot in anticipation. The messier the environment, the fiercer his desires burn, and with five vorns without an active socket, both our sparks call out for some kind of transfusion, even if it is only their own bonded.

We need a socket so badly even I've admitted that anything will do; it's been rare for us to have to do without. Hound is exceptionally skilled at picking and convincing them. I only hope these humans don't shed much.

He's on me, laughing. I see sky for a moment before there's only his face and the splash of muck and water. The heat of his chassis and the hands on my frame is quite enough to make me forget everything else. It feels so good, even my weakening spark flares brightly to have its companion so close. It's been the only strength and comfort we've had for far too long.

~Don't stop!~ I can't help the silent howl of desperation when he pulls away and stands up.

~A human is coming,~ his thought chills the fire in my lines instantly as he reaches down, offering me a hand up.

 **"So?"** I can't help but glare as I stand on my own. I _want_ him. I don't feel like waiting.

He laughs again, amusement filtering through the bond. **"You really are wound up if you don't care if we're watched."**

 _"Lovely morning for a swim, don't you think?"_ The strange biped native to this world makes itself obvious.

My first look didn't reveal much to like; the only advantage is being female. But Hound perks up too much and steps forward to talk with her so I give her a second look, a longer, investigative one. **"Okay, she looks nice for her kind,"** I admit to him after downloading and processing millions of images of 'attractive' humans and a fairly complete sexual guide from the base databanks.

 _"Definitely. I'm Hound. Mister Grumpy there is Mirage,"_ he tells her in English, the dominant language of this misbegotten swamp of a planet and the human group we are most closely allied with for now.

**"Hound!"**

_"He never seems to remember that getting dirty means a long, hot shower when we get back to base,"_ he continues.

 **"Hound,"** I drop my tone to the sultry one that demands he back up his promises with action, and soon.

 **"You know I will, love,"** he promises with a rumble of his own. **"But think of how much better it will be with a socket."**

 **"She doesn't have the implant,"** I point out, even knowing he can feel it's absence as easily as I can.

 **"Easily fixed,"** he's voice drops in wanton desire than set my energon on fire.

 _"Alicia Rodriguez, Environmental Restoration Team Three?"_ he turns back to her with a smile.

 **"Why bother?"** I can't help a bit of frustration and turn to leave, but he catches my arm. **"Hound,"** I rumble, letting my ill-temper loose. I'm really in no mood to deal with this right now. My systems are too charged for my thoughts to stabilize long. **"If you want her, fine. Get her set up. You know I'll agree to her."**

 **"Raj, love,"** his voce goes soft, almost pleading. **"I want _you_ to like our socket. Remember Vitil and W'sandra? Remember how much better it is when you like them? We have at least ten human generations before the situation is truly desperate, and you know there are others on base that will share."**

I can't help but shutter my optics briefly at both the tone and words. He's one of only two people allowed to use that mangling of my designation without retribution, and both do it out of a love for _me_ that I can deny them nothing.

 **"I know,"** I feel my frame slump fractionally in surrender. **"But humans are ... _slimy_."**

 **"Better than fury,"** he gives me a cheeky grin I really want to slug him for.

I swear I still have fur inside me from the last one he talked me into. There is not enough cleaning time in life to deal with that again.

 **"Slimy can be washed off,"** he rumbles and I feel myself heat up again.

"That's me," the human says with a silly grin on its face, oblivious to the content of our discussion. It's watching us intently as it continues to wade towards us. I guess that's better than scared. _"What brings you two to the far side of the island so early on a Wednesday morning?"_

 _"Mostly I like dragging him out to the wilderness. Some time alone and the joys of nature."_ Hound gives me an amused, and very promise-filled look. _"He usually enjoys it much more."_

 **"Usually we aren't interrupted when it's getting good,"** I can't help but point out.

"Well, nice to meet you, Mirage and Hound," the strange creature ... Alicia, I must remember it's ... _her_ name if she is going to be our socket ... extends a hand and grasps Hound's extended finger.

A handshake. How quaint. Prime taught them some manners already.

 _"You have picked the right part of the island for wilderness, though it isn't nearly the wilderness it was a hundred years ago, but it is still very nice, heavenly actually if you like to be alone. Nothing but wetlands, beaches, and critters for miles around...that is if you include a few scientists like myself in the critter category. You are the first Autobots I've seen on this side since I started my survey,"_ she babbles in English.

 _"There aren't many who appreciate a marsh the way I do,"_ Hound chuckles deeply. _"We only arrived two nights ago, but perhaps I can assist in your survey? It is what I did before the war."_

 **"Before the war?"** I can't help but smirk at him and receive a deep laugh in return. I love that sound. No Tower mech would ever laugh like that. Few Autobots even do. I wonder what it means that the two mechs are I am loyal to both laugh freely and frequently in my presence?

 _"It's what I did_ during _the war for the most part too,"_ he corrects himself, still chucking. _"I love organic worlds and all the life they support."_

 _"That is an intriguing prospect,"_ she replies with a chuckle. _"I'd enjoy some help, and some company. The rest of the team goes back to base at night, but I prefer to stay in the field. I'm a bit old fashioned about my research methods. I hope it won't frustrate you. I'm not a technophile,"_ she smiles, adding, _"no offense."_

 _"None taken,"_ Hound assures her. _"Even though we're technological beings, you'll find the same spread among us. There are those who exist for technology, and those who only use it as needed. I fall under the later heading. It's useful, but it's not my focus."_

 **"Hound, we are _not_ recharging in this humid muck,"** I don't hold back the glare, not that it's ever phased him. Even my love of him and core-programming to submit to my bonded has its limits.

 **"I know,"** he turns to brush his fingers against my cheek, his undivided attention is on me and I feel my resolve melt as I shutter my optics and lean into the contact. I've lost. I'll do anything he asks of me and we both know it. As much as it riles me at times, I have never been able to completely extricate the second-creation Towerling code from my programming. Even though I've told him, there are orns I wonder if he fully grasps what that means, of how much control I surrendered to him when we bonded.

 _"I probably can't stay out most nights,"_ Hound tells her. _"I love to, but...."_ he makes a bit of a shrug towards me. _"It's far too wet."_

I don't care if he blames me, as long as _we_ spend nights in our new quarters. It's not like he's lying either. He _would_ love to, and I _will_ make a fuss about the wet. All he's not telling her is that if he insisted, I'd do it for him.

The human does something inexplicable. She turns and makes very sure I know she's looking at me as much as Hound when she speaks and she ... smiles? Why would the creature smile when she'd just been turned down rather soundly?

_"Oh, I wasn't trying to imply that you would. I was just letting you know that I don't go back in the evening unless I need to. I am always happy for company and help, but only as much is as is convenient for both of you. The mosquitoes and I have bonded quite well out here at night ... it almost made me rethink that neck thing that your CMO offered. But I just couldn't see it being worth the money it would cost the base, since I use so little technology in the field."_

It's rambling, running words into each other, but it's still a tenth of the speed we process speech.

She's bonded with the mosquitoes? What a strange idea.

 _"You might be surprised how many uses they have,"_ Hound grins at her and knees, offering her a hand if she wishes to stop craning her neck to speak to him. _"Besides, now that you've been cleared to know about us, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of us no matter where you work. Most of us_ like _humans."_

And the rest of us will learn to tolerate them in short order, one way or another.

At least she'll be seeing a lot of _Hound_ , and my extension, me. He's far too fascinated with this creature. If I didn't already know it was sentient, I'd be warning him that no, he can not bring it home with him. Since it is, we're both rather hoping it agrees to. To have this over with if nothing else.

Alicia laughs at something and climbs up on his hand. _"You are going to get muddy if you pick me up, but I get the sense that is not really an issue for you, Hound."_

 _"I happen to like the mud,"_ he grins back as he stands, bringing her around to be between us. He very much wants me to _like_ this creature he's courting.

And I am finding the idea growing in appeal. She's curious, intelligent, brave....

~If she responds as well to seeing a little intimacy, may I invite her to more?~ Hound interrupts my musing on the quality of this potential socket with the silent question over our bond.

Intimacy?

He sends a wash of support and affection. ~We need to show her that we are worthy of the commitment. Worthy of her.~

~We are,~ I can't hold back the possessive, demanding snarl of my spark. My world may be long gone, but I am still a _noble_.

~Just have to prove it, like I proved to you I was worthy,~ he hides an affectionate smile while she's distracted by the change in perspective.

 _"So, what kind of uses would a port in the neck have to an old fashioned field-researcher who has no cell phone, no laptop, and still takes her notes by hand and puts them in plastic bags?"_ she asks, pointing over to where her supplies are floating on a reed raft.

 _"It's best use is probably for when you get out of the field and have to translate those notes for the technological world,"_ Hound teases her. _"It would be much faster to simply skim-read your notes to refresh your memory and have them download directly into the computer."_ He shifts very slowly, turning so she is between us in a very intentional move to make me look at her when I watch him. He knows me far too well, and I cannot hate him for it. _"Days, weeks, saved? Time you could spend in the field again. Ratchet can tweak your biochemistry so you do not appeal to predators, big or small. Allow you to function on low rations and impure water for many months without ill effect. Disease resistance. You could call for help if you needed it. It would even allow you to learn our language to an extent."_

I can't even tune out his words; even in this convoluted, primitive, disorganized language, I love his voice.

The organic ... Alicia ... must use _her_ name, even in my head ... turns to me. _"Is he always this convincing?"_

Well, yes he is, and far more. He has _me_ after all. Any low-class commoner that successfully courts a noble, no matter how isolated and desperate said noble is, is very good at convincing people.

But how to answer her?

If she's going to be our socket, and at this point I have little doubt of it; she's already admitted he's convincing and likes him, I'd better start to communicate with her. The ones Hound picks this fast always expect it eventually, expect to be treated as near-equals and lovers, not as the valuable possession I still can't completely stop thinking of them as when I relax.

He'll cover for me, saying I have difficulties with speaking a language not my own, which is true enough, but he won't do it for long. Within a metacycle, usually much less, he silently demands I get over myself and start treating the socket as the person and equal he does.

And I always do. _Always_.

I hate what I was created as some orns.

Then there are most orns these vorns, where I remember that if I had been a first creation I'd never have survived adapting to the Autobot army, much less where it's taken me. I would never have accepted Hound.

I'd have remained completely alone rather than accept anything less than a second creation into my berth.

I would have gone completely insane.

All the time I'm thinking, he leaves me be.

 _"Yes,"_ I manage in the language she's been speaking to us. The sounds are as liquid and unsettling across my vocals as the microbe-filled muck I'm standing in is to my circuits and even less pleasant to think about. At least the muck makes sense to Hound, and he's always managed to get me to grasp the purpose of it.

Language is another matter entirely.

The delay with my internal debate and slow work to formulate the answer in her language must be too short for her limited perception of time to notice, for she is absolutely delighted with me. I believe she's trying to mute the reaction on her features, not realizing that it is one of the last ways our kind would notice reactions.

It's heightened her curiosity all the more. A true kindred spark to my Hound.

Even if it takes him metacycles, he'll pursue this one. If she refuses us now, Prowl did inform us that there are willing sockets, unclaimed and claimed, willing to assist those that need it. We'll just use those until she falls under his spell as I did.

She's babbling again about herself, a socket and I can't help but perk up a bit when she wonders onto trying to speak Cybertronian. She's ... actually thinking about it? She _wants_ to understand, to understand us better?

That's a new one. All the others wanted to understand so we had a harder time keeping secrets from them, or at least so they wouldn't keep getting lost when I talk to Hound or others.

~You'll like her,~ Hound _purrs_ at me. He's delighted with her, and beyond delighted with my reactions to her.

Oh, I want to finish what we started, audience be damned. He _knows_ what that mind-sound does to me. What his approval does to me. Just what I'll do to obtain it.

I _despise_ my core programming as a second creation some orns.

Then be begins to speak again and I'm lost in the sound of his voice.

 _"The soldiers who fought alongside Prime since his arrival can speak a few simple things and most of the designations of those they know well, though the accent is heavier than even Jazz's. You are right about your vocal system being ill-suited to speak any Cybertronian dialect. Understanding it is a much easier thing, though from what I have gathered it will still be difficult when we are speaking to each other at our normal speed. Your neural network is not designed to process information quite so quickly. Even so, you should be able to get the gist of a conversation. You would be able to read our language as well."_ Hound gives her the highlights of her limitations.

She smiles at _both_ of us. _"So, let me hear an example, if you don't mind. Could you tell me your designations? I've assumed that the English names I've heard are not direct translations."_

 _"No, not direct, but they are close in many ways,"_ Hound smiles down at her. **"WildlandHunter-IllusionMaster."** He says his full, formal name and I tremble, my systems running hot again. I know he switches back to English, but I have to focus on cooling myself before I embarrass myself completely and probably hurt the ... Alicia ... in the process.

~Love, your name for her,~ he prods me silently. ~We'll get to the good part soon, I promise.

I nod faintly and school my voice and lingual processor to the long-disused dialect of the Towers. **"Kneels-Sixth-Invisible-Lovely-ofSwiftSky."**

So many things I am no more, that are no more ... if I was a little stronger....

~Raj,~ he's deep in my spark now, almost invasive in how strongly he wraps _himself_ around me, locking the pain of loss outside of his presence, shielding me from the worst of it until I can stand on my own again.

I love him for this; I hate myself for needing it. His mental touch sooths even that with a tender reminder that there is no shame in accepting silent support from your bonded. That, like seeing organics as equal partners, is not a lesson that has been easy for me to learn. I would have to surrender the last my heritage for it to fully settle, and I simply cannot do that. I am likely the last noble from the Towers left. We've all lost, but they at least have someone from their _society_ left.

Someone who understands their dialect by spark-right.

Hound's speaking to her again, and suddenly they're both looking at me.

Jazz would have my head if he knew how distracted I just was; it's completely unacceptable for a spy, much less one of my credentials.

~What does your House name translate best to?~ Hound asked silently, acting like I hadn't just completely drifted off into my own mind.

I wonder if this is a result of our long spark-starvation?

It takes effort, and it twists my internals to degrade my House name like this, but I comply anyway and force the sounds from my vocalizer.

"Swift Sky."

~Thank you, Raj,~ he sends so much understanding and appreciation with it even as he speaks to the human ... Alicia ... again.

She hesitantly tries to repeat what we've said. It's a failure on a level I can't even articulate; as she already surmised, her body is quite ill suited to pronouncing any dialect of Cybertronian. I couldn't even guess at what she was attempting to say if it wasn't so obvious.

But to even _try_ less only a couple breems after meeting us?

Maybe this one is special enough to be worth my full effort. Maybe.

Hound sends a wave of gratitude and approval at my musings. I knew he would, but it feels good non-the-less.

She babbles about her own naming conventions, and out of a curiosity I don't care to challenge, I look them up. They're unusual for an English speaker. Spanish speaking nations hold that convention. Mexico being the closest to where her file says she is from. Was her family cast out? Or did they move willingly but held on to their culture as best they can as I have?

Her next question makes Hound smile at both of us and I replay my audio recordings of the last thirty nanokliks as fast as my processor can translate the words. Ah, she wanted to know if we ever change designations. That explains the smile.

I get the feeling this one will ask questions forever if I don't do _something_.

**"Can we please move this to dry ground? I see no reason we need to have this conversation standing in the middle of the marsh."**

His response is gratifyingly quick as he looks at her. _"Do you mind if we move to solid ground?"_

 _"Oh, please, let's do. I need to gather my things,"_ she motions downward. _"My base camp is over that way, and is on solid ground. There's some fresh, non-silty water there if you need to clean up."_ She points toward the far side of the wetlands area. Her midsection makes the strangest sound, a gurgling not unlike .

Non-silty water? Not a washrack or proper oil bath, but I'll take it right now.

 **"You own me a bath,"** I tell him sourly, knowing full well he translates my moods by on reflex now. **"I'm filthy and haven't even gotten an overload out of it."**

 **"I'll clean you up my noble,"** he laughs deeply and scoops up her belongings before heading in the direction she indicates. _"You are skilled at making a camp blend into the environment,"_ he comments her as we come closer, and I'm sure he's simply trying to win her over with complements. Not that I'm one to judge if she's any good at it. Maybe she actually is.

It just seems so unlikely with her age.

I catch a whiff of clean, running water and I loose thought of Hound for a moment as I stride towards it. I want to be _clean_.

I shiver slightly as I kneel in the shallow stream. It barely comes half way up the wheels on my pedes, the ground is sandy, and the slow-flowing water is **_cold_** , but it's deep and wide and clean enough to do the job. I've certainly cleaned myself in worse conditions since becoming an Autobot.

She strips off half her flimsy outer armor ... clothing ... and brings it with her to the edge of the stream that's a bit wider that Hound's shoulders. It's her smile directed pointedly at me that makes me pay attention to her, though I don't pause in my efforts to remove the marsh from my frame.

 _"I don't ever really feel clean when I'm out here. But it is worth it to get away from the insanity,"_ she's making random conversation, saying nothing of value, but it shows she's observant and paying attention to my actions.

She's trying. I'll try.

 _"You sound like Hound,"_ I tell her, though I doubt she grasps the full significance of the statement.

It's still enough for him to send a wave of affection through our bond as he steps into the shallow water and kneels a bit behind me. It's hard to control the anticipatory shiver, but I do and shift upwards to expose the backs of my legs.

The touch of his hands makes the splash of cold water as he rinses and wipes the muck off my legs feel quite good. When the cloth begins to work on my back, I feel everything relax and my optics close.

Oh, my Hound knows just how to touch me to make me melt. Every inch of my chassis feels his hands as he wipes the muck off me. Not a word of thought passes between us; his touch is more than enough. He wants me to be still for as long as I can manage, he wants to put on a show for her, a display that will appeal to her.

How he knows what will, I'll never understand. That's his talent, his gift. One of many I've benefited from over the vorns.

I can't control my vocalizer anymore and whimpers escape. I can't control the tremors either. I want him so badly. The water around us is warming from my heat.

My vents hitch when his hand slides down my chest and gently pulls me back against his broad, warm frame. This mimicry of the first time he touched me, intending only to give me relief from the near-overload generated by his socket, has been devastatingly erotic to me ever since. He wouldn't know until we bonded that it was the first time anyone had touched me to give me pleasure. It horrified him to realize that I thought it perfectly normal that pleasure only came when you took it, that it was never given.

He showed me so much about what caring and pleasure means, and yet when I shut off my optics and he touches me like this, it's so easy to believe, just for a few moments, that it's the first creation of some noble house that desires me this way despite it being an arranged bonding. It's a fantasy I can't delete. I've tried many times. It only gets stronger the older and farther from that home I get.

My Hound knows this, knows what I think about when he touches me like this, and does it anyway. He knows all he has to do is face me and I'm completely there with him, yet he gives me this fantasy often. I never ask him for it. I never will.

That hand slips between me legs. I know I shiver and whimper, a few begging words slip from my vocalizer. All I can think about is what _should_ have been; that the hands on me belong to another noble. The mouth against my neck goes with an elegant face and finely crafted frame that will draw me onto his lap and sink his spike into my willing valve. One that makes the displays of ownership desirable as well as functional.

He's humming against my neck and the sub-voc vibration penetrates my entire being as he slides a free arm across my chest to hold me tightly.

Suddenly our bond unfurls completely and _Hound_ invades my entire being. My vocalizer fritzes, as much static as pleas. His presence undoes all my self-control and I _welcome_ it, welcome _him_ , to own me fully once more.

If there is a perfect antithesis of what I am on missions, this is it.

Oh, my Hound. My bonded. _Mine_.

It's all I can think as his hands push me into the blissful white oblivion without ever exposing our interface equipment or sparks.

....

....

....

He's still holding me, murmuring in my audios, when the world checks in again. It's good he likes he hold me, because I doubt I could support myself right now.

~I'd hold you forever if I could,~ he sends warmth and amusement in equal measure. ~My beautiful Mirage, she very much enjoyed watching me touch you, watching your pleasure, and she can't even feel it yet.~

 **"Good,"** I'm vaguely aware of saying as I rest my head against his shoulder and vent heat, absently read reports as systems and sensors reboot and link up with my CPU.

He's talking to her again, but I can't be bothered to translate just yet. I get enough across the bond; he's inviting her to join us, to feel the pleasure we can offer her.

I don't really want to move, but soon she's close and I know I need to. At least my internal stabilizers are steady enough that supporting myself to watch him pleasure her ... Alicia ... is reasonably easy.

"I promise, you will not fall. We will not allow anything bad to happen," Hound reassures her as he reaches out to let her climb on his hand.

"I'm...I'm not afraid of falling," she promises and shivers.

No, but you are still brave given what he's asking of you.

"Tell me to stop, I will," Hound promises the kind of sincerity only he can manage as slender cables extend from both wrists. "This is for pleasure."

Pleasure for her, life for us. At least once she has a socket installed. Right now it really is just for her pleasure and my spark aches for the lost charge.

My socket-care coding surges to the forefront, demanding in outrage that I join him in pleasing her, that she'll stay if she's sated and cared for. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to how different a word _care_ is in my code compared to his. The same code, the same need, the same purpose, yet in mine is the coldly impersonal for-my-own-benefit nature of almost everything in the Towers, while his is very much like his feelings towards me. Warm, full of protection-adoration-givepleasure-mylife-myeverything I still can't quite grasp the fullness of when we aren't spark-merged.

Something else he somehow doesn't mind, telling me he knew what he was getting into long before he courted me.

I bury the code demanding I pleasure her with the fact that my bonded is doing just fine. She's crying out in pleasure, her mating pheromones rampant and she's leaking sexual lubricant on his hand as his cables caress her. I can't find it erotic the same way he does, but between the modifications he and Ratchet have made to my socket care code and his own enjoyment of what he's doing, I can at least participate in the way most of them expect fully.

By the time they work out I need him involved to fully enjoy it, they're used to me and don't take it personally. Most of the time.

But with Hound so engrossed in pleasuring her and my own spark needing her energy so badly, I can't help but react as much as I would to him.

 _"Lovely,"_ I catch myself murmuring in English.

 _"Yes, she is. So full of life,"_ Hound's voice is husky with need.

Even if I weren't already aroused, I would be now. That voice ... oh what it does to me.

 _"You are amazing at this,"_ she says in a low voice, gasping as cables gently undress her.

For the first time in a long time, an organic's voice sends a tiny thrill through my circuits. Nothing like what a mech can, but still ... it bodes well for the next dozen vorn.

 _"Thank you,"_ Hound rumbles, sending a bolt of raw _need_ through me. His bright optics are locked on her, exploring her as much as his cables do. _"I would like to do this often, pleasuring you."_

 _"I couldn't say no to that offer, but do I get to return the favor? "_ she moans deeply and we both shudder at the thought and at just how close we are to an incredible rush we need so much.

 **No**! He's _mine_!

 _"Yes,"_ he rumbles in raw desire, overriding me as he always does. _"With the socket implant, you could feel that, share pleasure the way we can when we plug into each other. Share that beautiful strength of your pleasure with us."_

It's almost more than I can stand.

She cries out again when his cables press inside her, thrusting gently. It's all I can do to keep from begging Hound to expose his spike so I can pleasure him.

Another set of sounds spill from her and on pure reflex I look them up, cross-referenced with her file.

Spanish, but the Spanish of her home is not the mutilated kind spoken by most. It's an ancient dialect, to them, that was known as the language of nobles.

 _This_ human language is more tolerable. It's no more logical than any other, but at least it is exclusive and just for her.

 _"I'm going back to base to sign that paperwork tonight. Just don't stop!"_ she promises and begs all at once and I can no longer tell whether it's Hound's arousal or my own that spikes.

"Yes," I purr to her.

 _"It's been too long,"_ Hound agrees in English, his full effort now focused on making every fiber of her being sing with the ecstasy he knows he can bring, even without the socket. _"So lovely,"_ he murmurs as her eyes close and her body arch, pressing into his touch as much as she can. _"So alive."_

She cries out again in her Spanish and I wonder how many others have heard this from her.

 _"Good,"_ Hound croons, working her body inside and out until the pleasure sweeps through her out of control. Then he pauses to download the data packet I have on Spanish and her home/

"My God, Mary Mother of God," she whispers in her native language as she slowly came back to her senses and opened her eyes.

"Do ... do you still want to explore me?" Hound switches to Spanish now, his voice shaky.

"Or watch me?" I can't help how needy I'm sure I sound. I want to touch him, pleasure him, so badly.

"Is it possible to do both? To touch you while Mirage is?" She looks at me. "If that is all right with you? Otherwise, I will watch."

~I might hurt her,~ my optics meet Hound's.

~You won't, we won't,~ he promises, the _want_ there too strong for me to resist.

"If one of us tells you to leave, get to the shore, okay?" he does his best to impart the seriousness of what could happen should either of us misjudge. "It's been a very long time since we shared with someone squishable."

"I hadn't considered the squishability factor," she answers with a nervous laugh. "I trust you both. I'll get out of the way as soon as you tell me to."

Hound nods and sets her on his chest as he lies down in the wide creek and begins instructing her in how to pleasure him.

The results are ... interesting.

Fingers, mouth and glossa begin to explore the broad planes of his frame, his grill. She's drawing out the moans that I'm still fiercely possessive of.

Even knowing to expect it, _he_ likes ones who prefer to give pleasure, I feel the aggressive, jealous anger rising in me. I want to crush this interloper, rend it to pieces and put it on display to warn off others. I am not a second creation to be ignored. The need defend what is _mine_ uncurls in my base coding. It's screaming to protect what should be _only_ mine. Protect the only thing worth more than myself.

~Shu. She's no threat to you,~ he's there before the emotion can even rise fully, enveloping me in himself. He knows to expect this too. Knows me, the way I was programmed and brought up. Knows what I can't delete, no matter what I might try.

He forgives me my urges and assures my core code that all is well, that this little organic is there to serve us, that it is not going take my place, all in the same moment.

I'll never understand how he manages to sooth that angrily possessive part of me, yet every time he brings a socket to me, he does it well. Most of them I end up liking, eventually.

 _That_ still makes my processors ache with a logic loop I can't follow and I have a moment of sympathy for Prowl and coping with Jazz.

~It is a fair trade for the life she'll give us,~ he's chipping away at my resistance again. ~Focus on me, my love. Show her what only _you_ can do to me.~

Ohhh, _that_ tone again.

I feel my frame shudder and I kneel without question. My fingers and glossa find the seams in his upper legs without any active thought, but the kiss and teasing licks to his interface panel are most intentional.

The familiar rush hits my systems when he presses into my touch instantly, insistently. What he is naturally ... a vocal, eager lover ... is a very hot kink to many a Tower mech and I am no exception. They are so rare. As much as many of us desire it, it is not acceptable behavior for a noble. Especially not in public. Public displays were not about affection or enjoyment but about displaying a claim on the other mech. Submissive or aggressive, it didn't matter how the initiation came across, only that it was permitted without protest and carried out to overload.

Despite the rush, I can't deny that this is exactly what's on my processors right now. Making my _claim_ before this interloper I can't directly retaliate against. Letting her know in a way that sooths my code that Hound is _mine_ first.

That I have these thoughts, these desires for such public displays would shock most of our comrades to their very spark. I'm well aware that most of them think I'm a stuck-up prude, when they're feeling kind. Not unlike their thoughts towards Prowl, though I doubt any would accuse him of being a traitor after what he did with Jazz. Most still believe that the time Hound took me on the observation deck overlooking Iacon was his idea and I simply conceded passively until he pushed me close to overload.

It couldn't have been any further from the truth, but neither of us has any need to correct people. Those that matter know me well enough to know the truth of it, that I silently tormented him for almost two joor and through the entire act with words and images and my own need to work him up to it and keep him going until his frame was aroused enough to finish without much direct effort on his part.

The click and soft snick of his panel retracting brings a shiver to my frame and I hold back the moan of approval and desire. I so very much enjoy sucking his spike.

His moan vibrates his entire frame as I slid my glossa along the fully extended length of his spike and both send tremors along my back strut from memories of what that sound means.

The _taste_ of him makes it difficult to keep my own panel closed. Musky, earthy, unrefined oil and traces of things I can never identify but know means _organic_. By rights, it should disgust me. Instead it makes my systems cycle faster, the heat and charge build before we've even begun real foreplay.

~Raj....~ he groans across our bond and I shudder at what a single touch has produced.

I give him another long, slow lick, savoring the shudders, inarticulate sounds and flavor of him. Then I slip two fingers into his slick valve and take the tip of his spike between my lips, slowly swallowing the thick green length. I don't hide the smugness I feel at making him loose track of the organic's pleasure.

He makes such _delicious_ sounds when he's down my throat, such an intoxicating taste when I pull back and swirl my glossa around the tip. The feedback when he funnels the sensations through our bond makes me moan around his spike.

I work my fingers in his valve, caressing the sensor nodes from rim to as deep as my fingers go. My own panel opens, and my spike all but explodes out of it's housing and into the cold, slow-moving water.

The shock takes the edge off my arousal; gives me a few extra moments to enjoy tasting his spike.

Reluctant as I am to give of that wonderful feeling I draw my head back fully, allowing the tip of his spike to slide from my lips and remove my fingers from his valve.

~Raj!~ he howls across the bond, nearly inarticulate even in his processors.

~Mine,~ I growl in reply, willing turning that ugly bit of code loose.

~Always,~ his reply come from his spark, and much of the conflicting coding in my processors goes silent.

My optics fall on the creature he intends us to spend the next twelve vorns with, and something else breaks.

"Come play with him," my voice doesn't sound like my own, no more than the offer or act of reaching out to _touch_ it, help it come to his spike, actually _aid_ it in touching what is mine.

I must be suffering more than I thought from the lack of energy. Maybe we should have taken a charge before exploring the area.

It shivers with excitement and touches me even more than needed before focusing on his spike. I must admit, she is lavishing him with the attention he deserves.

I catch his hips under my hands before he can buck up and knock her off. The sounds she's garnering are exciting. Oh, so very sexy.

"Yes," I know I say it, but the hissing rumble doesn't sound like me at all.

What's come over me?

~Listen' to me,~ Hound moans and shudders, near-nonsense coming from his vocalizer and I willingly sink into the game, telling him all the things I want to do to him, that I want him to do to me.

 ~Please love,~ he cries out silently and forces his entire chassis to still.

 **"So strong,"** I hear myself murmur, shifting to sink my spike into his dripping valve without any effort. I've done this so many times I don't have to think, just enjoy the smooth slide into that hot, slick tightness and the sweetly trembling moans he offers up at the sensations I give him.

I will _never_ tire of this. No more than the feel of his in mine, or his spark.

~Not this orn,~ his will is wavering, even as I know he's right. We can't spark merge now, no how badly we both want to.

I make a focused effort to open the bond as fully as it will. It's not the same as a spark-merge, but it sates the worst of that need with two-way information flow on every level short of inactive memory banks. There is no true loss of _me_ to _us_ , but we are both so familiar to the other, to the bond, that the near-sense of absolute union comes easily.

I choke back a shrill cry as he tightens his valve around my spike and nearly loose my balance in pinning him and supporting myself to protect this organic driving both our pleasure now.

~Please, Raj,~ he gasps, a last coherent request.

"Want him inside you?" I somehow manage to get out in some language she understands. I can't even manage to wonder why I'm eager to watch this, why she's turning me on.

The whimpering moan of an affirmative she emits nearly undoes my control, and definitely undoes his. She continues to pleasure herself and him, only startles slightly when his spike resizes from the thick, long length I enjoy to a suitable size for her.

Jolts of arousal's charge crackle through my systems as I watch her turn around and seat herself on his spike. My optics zoom in to record every detail of the movement and slick, smooth slide into her body to share with him.

After the first buck of his hips, he looses all focus on anything but the pleasure building fast in his systems.

All I can do is hold on for the ride and pray that I can hold myself together long enough to see his overload through and lock my arms to protect Alicia before surrendering to mine.


	5. The Naturalists 2: Waking Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Alicia's surgery and recovery, Hound watches his bonded carefully. He's all too aware things can still go horribly wrong, especially with Ratchet in full on 'no Towerling knows what consent means' mode. Mirage though has more important things on his processor, like a full scan of their socket without the medic noticing.

I send a tendril of support to Mirage as I listen Ratchet grill Alicia about her change of mind and he listens through me. Ratchet won't let us in the room, but we aren't out of my audio range. I'm sure he's well aware of it too.

All the expected questions come and she answers well, but what comes next makes me want to growl at him. The very pointed and unnecessarily harsh statement-questions about if she knows what she's getting into with Mirage. He has no doubts about me. Oh no, I'm trustworthy, but my _bonded_ isn't?

~Hound,~ he touches my arm and I abruptly realize that I'm upset about something that he doesn't even pay attention to.

~How can you not care?~ I can't help but turn to look at him.

~It does no good. Those who hate me will,~ he responds so simply, so evenly I wonder when we traded places.

~When I refuse to defend my 'honor',~ he sends a brush of affection. ~You can't stand that so few see me the way you do.~

Despite the words, and the very real wish I would stop, he can't completely tramp down that it makes him feel very warm that I care enough to defend him despite his objections. It's one of those Tower things, at least for the most part. The rest was the kind of education we like to pretend doesn't happen among Autobots, what we know is standard Decepticon practice. What the Towers didn't teach him about the worst of Cybertronian behavior, the Autobots beat into him in those early vorns.

Just remembering that brings a rumble of my engine that promises pain to anyone who tries it again.

~Except now I'm quite capable of defending myself,~ he reminds me smugly. ~I can count on my hands how many mechs out of both armies that can take me in a fight.~

~Raj,~ I can't help the sigh that escapes me and I turn fully to and cup his cheek with my hand. Even after all the vorns, it makes my spark flutter as much as the first time he leaned into the offered contact. We had such a rough start, but I knew Tower mechs before the war and I knew even then just what that small motion, the resting of support on another, meant to them. I just didn't know them well enough to make friends with this one easily. I hadn't really met a second creation before, and it bit me hard. ~That's not the point.~

The other side of our bond stills as his chassis does. Those lovely golden-white optics close briefly and he turns, just a bit, to kiss my palm.

I feel him smile when I shudder.

~Perhaps not, my Hound, but I am no longer the weak outsider desperate enough to submit to survive,~ his spark reminds me of just how strong he has become since we met and he so calmly asked me the price for another vorn of life. ~I am no longer the mech I was created to be. You and Jazz, and the Decepticons, saw to that.~

~I am sorry for that,~ I can't help the emotion. The war cost us all, yet somehow I was the one who lost the least, and my bonded ... even through our spark-merge I can't really grasp everything he has lost, everything he has rewritten in his code to survive and thrive. I doubt he even does. It's part of how he copes, I know. I'm just not sure how much he deletes, how much he condenses down to reports and data so he doesn't have to _feel_ it anymore.

He leans forward and captures my mouth in a sweetly passionate kiss until I pull him against my chassis, my fans already kicking in.

Despite the distraction, I keep my audio receptors tuned on the medbay. The conversation is over, she's won as far as I can tell. She's unconscious and he's begun the procedure.

~Then we can sneak in,~ Mirage purrs mischievously and activates his EM shield, cloaking both of us from almost every sensor known to Cybertronians. ~And I can suck on that thick spike of yours while you keep an audio on what Ratchet's doing. Have us both relaxed by the time he's ready to test the connection.~

~Save it for her,~ I struggle to keep my thoughts from going there, but my traitorous chassis has other plans and I've never been good at denying him. In this playfully hungry mood, our bond fully open, he makes me tremble.

~Are you sure?~ he brushes against my spark, my awareness, through the bond.

It'll take Ratchet at least a joor to implant the socket.

I feel him smile against my mouth as I realize that no, I'm not sure. I want to feel that mouth on my spike. I want to feel his fingers in my valve while we 'discuss' what to show her first.

Slag it, I just want _him_ any way I can get him. He may have submitted to me when we bonded, but I'm the addict that can't say no.

* * *

I watch my bonded argue with Ratchet. This is one of the reasons it's rare for me to be here when a new socket wakes from the surgery. We have to make sure the links work, and it's usually Hound doing it.

But today, with her, I'm insisting on my right to participate. I _need_ to get in her head. I need to know ... too much is at risk this time. Far too much.

I have to know if I can rely on her if things go completely wrong. Rely on her to take care of me, and possibly a sparkling, if I loose him to what is about to happen until I either join him in the Well of All Sparks or convince myself to live without him.

I doubt he realizes just how much I know about the old ways. How much I understand about what is coming when our Prime finally accepts that Earth is where we are going to stay and the Allspark is not coming back.

Jazz is equal parts ecstatic and terrified, as much as he's capable of fear. He's from a time before the Allspark as I knew it, before bringing new mechs on line was sanitized. He grew to maturity when every new life brought a significant chance at least one of its creators would die. He's told me what to expect, the real odds and real issues we'll face. He even told me of what it was like when he was born ... yes _born_ ... like the Seekers do.

Only he's not of Seeker heritage. They've just refused to evolve with the rest of us.

The ironic thing? That refusal is likely to lead them to dominate in numbers now that our 'modern ways' have been taken away from us. If the war cost us, so will keeping any non-Seeker heritage alive to stand witness to the next Prime's coronation.

My sweet Hound isn't afraid of it. He's enthusiastic. He simply believes my unease is because of my heritage and general queasiness when it comes to such organic ideas. I haven't dissuaded him of that nation, and I do not plan to.

Ah, the debate is over, even though it took Hound going all the way to Prime with it.

 **"Against my better judgment, go ahead,"** Ratchet grumbles at me.

He really does believe he can tell if I try anything I shouldn't.

I'd show him the folly of making such assumptions of Special Operations' Second in Command, of _Jazz's_ chosen successor, but it is far more valuable to remain underestimated by the general population, and especially by our medical staff. It is not in our best interests to have him look too closely at our code and the various highly illegal surprises we have stashed there.

I need none of those surprises to do what I need to today. I merely need by wits.

Ratchet monitors, ignorant of my full intentions no matter his suspicions. Hound watches too, but he has no grasp of my full potential. He _knows_ what I'm capable of; the spark-merges we indulge in regularly ensure that. Yet he does not have the base personality required to _understand_ what that knowledge means.

It allows me to do this right under his optics.

She is unconscious, sedated. I slip in easily and dig through the mass of signals and cell structures as I run the routine checks Ratchets tells me to.

It all goes well, his tests and mine.

But what is in her mind ... she is very much like my Hound and it takes much of my skill to keep the revelations to myself.

Not only will she do, but I could actually ... _care_ about this one.

I partition a small part of one of my processors and make a full copy of her brain in it. Simulations by the thousands run before she begins to wake. Every one of them produces the same results.

She understands as much as an organic could of what I am, what I've lost and yearn for. She is a caretaker, a fierce one. She could see me through the loss if I can bond with her. She will see any sparklings we create as her own.

She is what we need.

It is now up to me to accept her in a way I've never done before.

Even before she begins to rouse, I delete the partition and everything in it. All I've learned and done is written into a dry, factual report to avoid attention and I set to work rewriting my code to adapt to what I must become in this new world and this new life.

I don't even have it in me to do more than vaguely wonder how much of my original code is left.

Some subprogram I can't remove answers me, as it always does.


	6. A Mission Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage's side of The Naturalists 8-10. Mirage at his SpecOps 'best' when things go very, very wrong. Pity the Cons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Chéad Maestro = The First Master AKA Jazz  
> Itim Dáin = Black Death AKA Whiplash  
> *Heavily* inspired by [Bent, But Not Broken](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/2772.html) by [ladydragon76](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/).

A simple mission. It really was, especially for *me*. Sneak in, drop off a few listening devices, poke around for anything interesting, take any opening I had, get my aft out and back to base.

Why is it always the simple ones that end up going sideways the hardest?

'Be careful' and 'Skywarp's lab' go together like Megatron and loose bolts. It's an R&D lab, belonging to a Con scientist who also happens to be a Seeker in the Elite Trine. It's worse to poke around in than Wheeljack's lab. Wheeljack isn't prone to building fatal devices intentionally.

I still don't know what went off, or exactly how it took me down, but one moment I am investigating Skywarp's new projects, my electro-disruptor activated, and the next I find it difficult to focus. When I do orient myself I'm in the Nemesis' brig, bound wrists and ankles with both spread in the middle of the cell.

Lovely.

Megatron and Soundwave are standing outside the cell. Starscream is closer to the door but watching with keen interest. They are all focused on me, no doubt hearing my systems coming up as I recovered from whatever hit me.

 **"So which pathetic Autobot is this?"** Megatron drones, feigning disinterest in me, dismissing my value. He's intending to get a rise from me, to anger me into making a mistake. I know full well he knows who and what I am.

So I smile at him, my helm down just slightly and my optics looking up in a sultry, you-aren't-good-enough manner. It's a very specialized look, one I didn't rate using back in the Towers, but I learned from watching. It's entitlement and superiority at it's most damning, and I know it can infuriate him like little else.

The giant stiffens just slightly, and I quirk the corner of my mouth up, letting him know I saw him loose our little exchange.

 **"Designation: Mirage,"** Soundwave informs him.

Now, this just will not do.

 **"Mürrãje,"** I correct him, accepting distain oozing from my every manner. Like I don't expect him to know how to pronounce my designation correctly, and in truth, I don't. I'd be surprised if he knew all I'd done to my designation since we last met.

The flash of his optic band tells me he knows *exactly* what the changes mean, even the most subtle shifts that Megatron won't hear. Honestly, if Megatron hears any of the changes, I'll be mildly impressed.

The last Lord High Protector knows *something* happened, I can see it in his optics as he looks between Soundwave and me. He's not stupid and he knows his ranking officers.

I see the moment he decides to dismiss it and orders his subordinate forward. Thus begins the dance. Truly, if they had any idea what trained me they wouldn't bother with this. But they don't understand. I doubt they can.

Soundwave, perhaps, but none of the rest.

I wonder if the size difference makes them feel stronger? Even the smallest, Soundwave, stands half again as tall as I do, and Megatron is twice mine. The difference in mass is even greater. One would have thought An Chéad Maestro had taught them not to think size matters, but then they did manage underestimate him enough to loose him to the side he still struggles to adapt to.

The telepath steps up to me and placed his fingers along the rim of my faceplates and settles in to do his work.

~Hungry Lost Ghost,~ he brushes against my outer mind, the part of the processors that no one, not even Soundwave himself, can block off. I keep my surprise at his apparent full understanding of my current designation well hidden behind the shields designed to stop him and stronger. Shields An Chéad Maestro developed long before the Golden Age and never stopped refining. ~I know you are the Noble Ghost. #The Silver Immortal's# prize pet, shielded from me as few others. I know you intend to survive to return to your lover and your master,~ his voice is cool, calm, simply stating facts as a foundation for our encounter.

He's not yet to the point of looking for a response. The offer will come next. Then the warning. Then his attempt to break into my memory banks.

Pathetically predictable, as is his failure.

~I am well aware of your capabilities,~ he adds images of my harder kills to make the point. ~I will see to your return to your master in exchange for enough information to satisfy Megatron.~

~If you know my *designation*, you know I have no need to bargain,~ I sneer at him. ~I will walk out of here as I walked in.~

~Very well,~ Soundwave said before we both fall silent, programs and skills pitted against each other across both our processors.

On the outside, kliks passed, them breems, then a full joor, and still neither mech so much as twitched. Eventually Megatron began to grumble and pace, but even he knew better than to interrupt Soundwave at telepathic hacking work.

Two joor stretched to three and Megatron left. At five Starscream snorted and stalked out, leaving just Soundwave and his drones with the prisoner. At nine joor Soundwave shuddered, his grip tight against the noble's face and his optics band powered down as every spare joule of energy in his system poured into the telepathic connection and his effort to crack any part of the prisoner's defenses.

At fifteen joor, he twitches and falls back, a victim of the best engineering Cybertron has produced and the most devious mind it's ever witnessed.

The two drones that remained with him, a quadapede and an octipede, start to panic with their master down, but settle into a fearful stillness when Megatron stalks in to assess the situation.

Smart mech, his optics go to my location first, then to his downed agent, then to the drones.

He snarls. I smirk. It feels good, even knowing I've just opened myself up for the more traditional interrogation methods. They have nothing here that I haven't endured and still escaped on my own.

I've even been subjected to Vortex before. I wonder if he'll remember me? With his skills, I doubt many have not broken for him.

Starscream saunters in, a smirk on his faceplates at the crumpled form of his competition. I'm sure he thinks this is his opportunity to prove to their master that he's the superior interrogator. As if he could stand a chance against one forged by An Chéad Maestro's experience, skill and imagination.

 **"Break him,"** Megatron orders with a dismissive wave my direction. **"But I reserve the right to extinguish his spark, and he will beg for the mercy of oblivion."**

Does he really not know that all senior SpecOps agents know their own kill-code? An Chéad Maestro, Itim Dáin and I know them all, but even if he doesn't realize where I fall in the ranks, he must realize we can all extinguish our spark at will by the time we make the grade and finish training and vetting, by kill code or other means. Soundwave knows. Megatron must.

Starscream smirks at me as his master leaves and struts up. Slender, strong talons grip my chin and force my face up so our optics meet.

I meet his smirk with a more refined one of my own. Never let him forget I'm not just some Autobot. I'm not just some spy. I am a creation of Towers, programmed by An Chéad Maestro and in service to the Prime himself. I'm as close to a god made mechanical as anything still functioning.

 **"Well, Mürrãje,"** he smirks a little wider. **"I remember the last time we had you. I remember very well what doesn't work. But Vortex is an artist, and you are one of the few works of art that went unfinished. Still, I would be remiss if I didn't offer you a chance to talk and save yourself some pain."**

 **"Megatron ordered you to break me,"** I smile demurely up at him. I do gain far too much amusement messing with their processors. **"I gain nothing by complying now."**

 **"Oh, but you do,"** the Seeker rumbles even as Soundwave begins to stir. **"Breaking can go fast or slow, painful or easy. I'm sure you realize that."**

I allow a low chuckle from a vocalizer. He is every bit as arrogant as before. An earned arrogance, like mine, but still arrogant.

 **"As can death,"** I remind him haughtily, knowing the full truth of my words. **"Only one mech holds the right to extinguish my spark, and he is no longer a Decepticon."**

I watch was comprehension dawns on him, and the snarl that erupts. The blow that comes barely registers. They've done their job, put medical blocks on the control of my sensory net, but they can't do anything about the programming that runs deep in my processor that deadens pain to a notice rather than a sensation. Ratchet has a fit and disables it whenever he finds it, curses how Special Ops mechs never have any common sense, but like all the other programs we aren't supposed to have, it simply reinstalls itself as soon as no one is scanning for it.

Core kernel viral programs at their most useful.

Starscream doesn't seem to register that I fake the reaction to his blow. He does register when I bring my face around to meet his optics once more.

 **"Suit yourself,"** the Seeker snaps. **"Vortex will enjoy this opportunity to finish his work on you."**

 **"Then this time I will ensure he never suffers from a lost artwork again,"** I smile up, the kind of civilized malice that so easily came to my creators' first creation playing across my lip components.

He sputters and snarls, not understanding what I mean and frustrated by the fact. Soundwave and his drones are gone. Vortex arrives shortly, pushing a large cart with all his equipment. Some are obvious in their use, like the electro-whip, some not so much, like the various liquids and clamps.

 **"You disappoint me, Vortex,"** I startle both mechs into looking at me. **"You come to me without a single new toy after how many vorns?"**

 **"It seems those vorns have not taught you any better manners,"** Starscream rumbles.

I do so enjoy taunting Decepticons.

 **"We are in an extreme back corner of the universe,"** Vortex points out dryly. **"My supplies may be limited, but my skills have greatly improved. I must admit, I am looking forward to finishing my work on you."**

The orn and a half it takes before the punishment to my frame forces me into stasis lock are a slow blur, though I know I've recorded every detail for a report so we are better prepared next time. A lesser operative might have broken and opened their bond to send a final mission report. I know they aren't done with me. I've angered them too much. I'm far too defiant. Starscream will settle for nothing less than seeing me break.

That means they'll keep repairing me. It means I have time.

Awareness comes with pain, enough to make my vents hitch before I finish booting and the programs begin to reroute the signals into simple damage warnings that scroll relentlessly across my vision.

They've disabled my chronometer, the normal one anyway, but it seems they've learned nothing of An Chéad Maestro's modifications to us. As long as my spark has power, there are intrinsic patters to my systems that can calculate the time. Not as efficient as the dedicated equipment, but still effective.

Vortex and Starscream are gone. My guards are Motormaster and the rest of the Stunticons. As I take in the situation, it sinks in that I've only been repaired and given enough energon to keep going. I have no doubt that Hook argued far more than I heard about doing such imperfect work. To him, it doesn't matter that I am an Autobot destined to die, it only matters that he does nothing less than perfect.

 **"So the pretty little Autoscum is awake,"** Motormaster grins and stalks towards me, grabbing my chin and forcing my head back to look him in the optics. **"I don't care what intel is in your banks. I don't care if you beg or break, though it would be a definite plus. We're just going to have fun with you until Vortex comes back."**

Ah.

Rarely used programs kick in with the knowledge of what's coming, relaxing my valve and making it slicker than usual to compensate for my lack of arousal and their lack of care. Only twenty-six percent of non-Seeker Decepticons have a spike and valve system, almost all are non-adaptive, and among them are every gestalt. It is not known why, but it has proven true.

Motormaster will do damage no matter what, he is far too large not to, but my systems will take as little damage as possible now.

 **"Then I won't concern myself with you,"** I tell him with all the sultry haughtiness I can manage. It is worth the pain of his punch to see his expression change. Motormaster is as light on processor power as they come, but he is good at recognizing an insult.

When my processors stop rattling I focus on him again and smirk. **"Really, I thought you could do better than that."**

The next hit I only catch part of before processors shut down to protect themselves from damage.

I come to with a gasp before the pain-bypass protocols kick in. All the errors I had before, and new ones from pede joints, valve and pelvic girdle. The intensity of the pleasure with all pain suppressed drags a shuddering moan of want from my vocalizer and a tightening of my valve around the huge spike inside it before I'm completely cognizant again. The moment realization hits, I load a new personality profile, one Jazz teasingly refers to as 'the wanton slut' to handle the situation.

I hate this. When I'm myself it makes me sick what I do. It's worth it though, to finish the mission. My Maestro and Hound are there to ensure it always will be worth it, one way or another. An Chéad Maestro has never lost a senior operative to the weight of our crimes, to what conscience and memories he leaves us, and he never will. Sometimes I wonder if Soundwave or Megatron have any grasp just how accurate calling him my master really is.

The next moan that comes is very real, very needy and I shift to take him in deeper, squeezing down on the spike as it thrusts in and out. He looks so very surprised as I throw my head back and moan shamelessly for more, to feel his transfluid splash against the top of my valve.

A deep chuckle rumbles from the mech fucking me and those watching us. I only moan again and try to encourage him to thrust deeper, harder, to drive me to overload with him or without him.

* * *

Protocols control my ventilations as I boot up with my default mission personality profile. It means I'm in bad shape and have been for some time. I've long since lost track of how many times Vortex has worked on me, how many times my valve and even my spark has been taken, how many repairs Hook has done or how often he raged against the state he is ordered to leave me in. All I am sure of is that Hound has once more paid the price of bonding to a SpecOps mech.

Only one guard. It takes a moment to ID him, but a have to hold back a smile when I do. Roughstuff. Eager, violent and dumb with a high interface drive suitable for an Aerial. Except for the violent part, exactly what I need to get out of here.

I load a modified form of the slut protocols, one where my SpecOps training is still fully accessed but my inhibitions are completely suppressed.

A soft boot and I look on my guard with new optics. Hungry ones that see only an interface panel that conceals a large spike.

 **"What are you looking at?"** he growls at me in Decepticon, but I can see he can read my all-too-obvious body language and expression. I'm battered, but I'm still of noble construction; a rare treat. My panel is already retracted ... what's left of it anyway.

 **"You have a spike?"** I ask instead of answering, my frame quivering in anticipation I'm not faking any more than the moans I offered up when raped. **"They haven't used my valve in orns,"** my voice sounds pathetic with want, almost trembling as my optics remain on his interface panel.

He stares at me like I'm completely crazy, but he's so very tempted already.

 **"Who's they?"** He demands even as he comes closer, lust already clouding his optics and his systems priming.

 **"The Stunticons mostly,"** I croon, my fresh lubricant in the air. **"I want your spike."**

 **"You want any spike,"** he snorts but turns the force field to my cell off and walks forward, stroking himself before he grabs my hips.

 **"Yes,"** I purr and try to spread my legs, try to show my eagerness with something other than my expression and voice. Fortunately he doesn't care and drives into my valve with as much force as Motormaster.

 **"Oh *yes*,"** I throw my head back and moan shamelessly, my valve tightening around the large spike as the lack of any sense of pain and the psychological protocols with this profile react as expected.

He grunts and thrusts, overloading quickly. Apparently he doesn't get much.

Soon he's thrusting again and I look up with lust-glazed optics and lick my lip components. **"I bet you taste as good as you feel,"** I shudder from the pleasure my frame is experiencing.

 **"You'll find out,"** he rumbles, intent on at least a second overload in my valve first. I'm quite fine with that. As long as he wants me to suck him off at some point, I have my escape.

The charge bounces back and forth across my circuits, an overload guaranteed to knock me off line if this profile permitted it, but it's all held in reserve for when I strike. It's more than enough to knock him off line for a long time. Then I'll have energon, weapons and escape.


	7. Bonding a Noble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several scenes from when Hound first sees Mirage to when they finally bond.

This one remains on Livejournal. Just follow the link.

[ **The Gilded Cage: Bonding a Noble 1/2** ](http://tf-socket-fics.livejournal.com/74486.html)   
[ **The Gilded Cage: Bonding a Noble 2/2** ](http://tf-socket-fics.livejournal.com/74654.html)   



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